The Porridge Tasted Bitter
by Arhtea
Summary: Written for QLFC season 6 round 8. No, he was being ridiculous. Harry was his mate. He would not do something like this on purpose. But still, the nagging suspicion stayed.


**Team:** Pride of Portree

 **Round:** The Korean Wave

 **Position:** Keeper

 **Keeper's Prompt:** K-drama Special - _For the Love of a Buzzcut._ Theme - someone making preparations for their death (natural or otherwise).

 **Word count:** 2992

 **Credit to Story Please for her idea of Lavender as the head of the Auror Office from her story "Donut Days". The plot inspiration comes from an episode of the TV show "Heartbeat" in which David Stockwell makes a will.  
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 **Things not canon: Severus Snape survived the snake attack. Ron stayed an Auror for longer than two years and is slightly more prone to paranoia than he was in the books :P. Draco has grown a lot since the battle and it has changed his attitude towards muggleborns and even the Weasleys in an attempt to rehabilitate the Malfoy name. As mentioned before, Lavender is the head of the Auror Office.**

 **Beta love to Story Please, Claude Amelia Song, Le soleil brille pas pour toi and Crochetaway.**

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 **The Porridge Tasted Bitter**

"A will?" Ron asked, staring at Harry. "I am only twenty-six, I don't think I'll be needing a will any time soon!"

Harry nodded. "Ideally yes, but you have to keep in mind that you're an Auror now. It is a dangerous job. Anything could happen. I mean, imagine if you're out on a call, mate, and—god forbid—something happens? You have a kid now too. You don't want Hermione to be left alone and tangled up in sorting everything out even as she's mourning you!"

Ron took a sip of butterbeer and thought back to the events of the day. They had been keeping guard, escorting people to trial, and one of them had gone for Harry's wand. No real harm had been done. Ron had managed to intervene and the prisoner never even touched the weapon, but it had left both men a bit shaken. The more he thought about, the more he felt that Harry had a point. He had to think about others now. He had a family to take care of.

"So you have one then? A will?" he enquired.

Harry nodded. "When Dawlish started mentoring me, he demanded I draw one up. Said it never hurts to be prepared for the worst. He is right, too. It makes me feel at least a little bit surer when going into a dangerous situation. At least I know Ginny will have one less problem on her mind, should the worst come to be."

Ron considered it. He liked the idea that Harry was looking after his sister, and he was right. Hermione deserved the same kind of consideration. "Fine. You've got a point, mate. How can I do it?"

"Oh, you just write down who gets what and then you find a notary to notarize it for you. Then put it somewhere safe where Hermione can find it after your death and you're good."

Shortly after, Harry finished his drink and said goodbye to Ron. Ron, on his part, searched his pockets and found a bit of wrinkled up parchment. Tom offered him a quill and some ink and he began writing. The beginning was easy. Of course, the bulk of his assets would go to Hermione. Then, after a moment of consideration, Ron decided to also set aside some money and valuables explicitly for Rose.

Of course, his Quidditch memorabilia would go to Harry. Some various trinkets to mum and dad. He hesitated and chewed the tip of the quill, earning an angry glance from Tom. Apologetically, he left the quill alone and began scratching his head with it instead. Right, a few prank items to Fred and George. With a stab of pain in his heart, he crossed out Fred. His measly book collection split between Hermione—though the titles she didn't already own herself were few—and Percy. A few separate items here and there to other friends and he was done. Just needed a signature and the date and then he handed the quill and ink back to Tom. He gave the ink-stained parchment an appreciative look, cast a quick spell to dry the ink and stuffed it into his pocket.

When Ron got home, he discussed the matter with his wife. Hermione was happy to see that her husband was looking towards the future and making sure she'd be secure. She remarked on Ron's maturity and made Ron feel quite good about this decision.

Next day after work, the parchment still in his pocket, Ron made his way to the notary's office that Harry had pointed out. The notary, an old balding wizard with a round and friendly face, went through a few things with Ron and then confirmed that now, the will was valid. He proceeded to explain that the will would continue to be so until such a time as Ron made a new will or destroyed this one.

Thus assured that he'd done right by his wife, child, extended family, and friends, he headed out of the notary's office only to bump into none other than Draco Malfoy. Ron's relationship with Draco had been interesting, to say the least, since the final battle. The Slytherin had not come back to retake his final year, just took the exams and then threw himself into the family business. He worked hard to rebuild and restore the family name as Lucius took a step back and spent time in house arrest. Part of Draco's absolution was in making amends with other families.

Thus the Weasley-Malfoy feud had come to an end and to his surprise, Ron found that when he got through Draco's spoiled git act and on his part put some effort into it, they could get along. They still weren't friends but they did occasionally grab a pint or two in the evenings. Ron would let off steam concerning his training and job or sometimes his wife and Draco in part would share his frustrations with trying to change the minds of the less progressive pure-bloods.

This time it was Draco's turn. He set two pints of butterbeer down and smiled at Ron. "Curious to see you at old Notarius's office," he remarked.

"You know him?"

"Yes. He's been handling some property deals for me," replied Draco.

Ron nodded. "He seems like a man who knows his job. I went there to notarize my will."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Really, the weasel made a will? You aren't dying off on me or anything? I was just starting to like you!"

"No, no. I'm fine. It was Harry's idea really." He proceeded to explain the whole thing with dangerous criminals and the likelihood that something would happen. "Hermione agrees that it is a good move," finished Ron.

Draco smirked and took a sip of his beer. "Sounds reasonable. But," he leaned in conspiratorially, "aren't you afraid it is a bad omen? I mean, it's like you're waiting for death."

Ron shook his head. "You're crazy," he replied. "'Cause what, death will see I have my life together and come for me because of it?" He laughed and raised his glass to his lips.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. And then, of course, there is the matter of the inheritances…"

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he leaned forward again and whispered with a worried look, "now you're worth more dead than you are alive to some people!"

For a second Ron stared at Draco to see if he was serious. Then the other man broke into a laugh and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm pulling your leg, Weasley."

Ron began laughing too and they clinked their glasses together. Then Draco looked down into his butterbeer. "It's when your food starts to taste of bitter almonds that you should start worrying!"

They said goodbye after a few more pints and Ron didn't pay much attention to what the blond boy had said. He locked the will in his vault at Gringotts and went about his business for the next few days. That is, until the night of the incident.

The incident took place on a Thursday, right before Ron's on-call hours ended. He got a frantic Floo call from the head of the Auror Office, one grim and no-nonsense Lavender Brown. Hardened by the werewolf attack, the woman now had formidable scars and a very tough outlook on life and crime. She'd risen to be the youngest head of the department since Augustus Rosebush got the job at seventeen in an act of outrageous nepotism that ultimately triggered the vote of no confidence in the Minister for Magic at that time, Lottie Rosebush.

In short, when Lavender Brown stuck her head through a fireplace and demanded that Ron haul his arse over to Azkaban, arguing was not an option. A routine escort had gone wrong and they needed backup. Harry and Ron were the first on the scene, finding Reynar Safiq and Libby Marcos taking heavy fire. They took up positions, coordinated and began firing back hexes and curses at their attackers. Harry motioned for Ron to move forward and he did. Then the spell hit him.

He barely noticed it at first. It was just the corner of a rogue cutting curse. They took down the armed prisoners and handed them over to the next Aurors on the scene. Ron, being the only one on their side who had gotten hurt, prompted an offhand comment from Libby about him having to fear friendly fire more than anything else.

That night as Ron lay in bed, those two comments floated around in his head until they finally clicked. First, there was Draco's "worth more dead than alive" and then there was Libby's "friendly fire."

No, he was being ridiculous. Harry was his mate. He would not do something like this on purpose. The Quidditch stuff he stood to inherit was hardly _that_ valuable. True, it had been Harry who'd suggested the will in the first place, and yes, he'd talked to Harry about what he stood to inherit. Still, it was far-fetched and unlikely. So silly that he had to discuss it with his wife. Hermione, of course, laughed it off and said he was being paranoid. He agreed and rolled over to fall asleep.

Except a thought kept nagging at him until he woke up in the middle of the night. Why would Hermione be so ready not to consider his idea? Was it really that blatantly stupid? What if they were in it together? It had been them pushing him to get his affairs in order. But no, he was being ludicrous now. His own wife would never conspire against him.

His porridge in the morning tasted slightly bitter even though Hermione had tried to hide it by heaping on twice as much honey as Ron usually liked. He excused himself politely and stormed off to make a Floo call.

Draco Malfoy was ninety-nine percent asleep and for the first ten minutes could not understand what Ron was rambling on about. Finally, the words "bitter" and "porridge" reached his brain and he realized that the Gryffindor menace was rambling about their last meeting. He scratched his mop of messy blond hair and groaned. "I was kidding, Weasel," he replied, yearning for his soft pillow. "Just forget it. I was messing with you!"

Ron's ears went red. "This isn't funny, Draco. Did they get to you too?" They probably did. Told the slimy Slytherin git to keep his mouth shut and that was that. After a bit of back and forth as Draco tried to convince Ron to let it go and Ron absolutely refused to let it go, Draco gave up and headed back to bed.

Ron on his part was unhappy, to say the least, with how the Floo call had gone, so he did something that was very unlike him. He headed out to the library in the wild hope that he'd find information on bitter-tasting porridge. Possibly in the poison section. The librarian, unfortunately, merely glared at him over her thick-rimmed glasses and suggested in an acerbic tone that maybe the cook had burnt the porridge. In short, she was of no use. Luckily, Ron then ran into Luna and she was much more helpful. She suggested in her dreamy voice that it might have been cyanide. Had it been metallic, it might have been arsenic.

That evening his soup had a metallic aftertaste. Ron was sure. He was officially in danger. But who could he go to? Everyone he knew was in the will. He did think he'd be safe with family but when helping George in the shop, a trick wand exploded in his face, costing him one of his eyebrows. Supposedly it had been a trick wand that should merely turn into a blooming bouquet of flowers. Visiting Bill, on the other hand, he was nearly "accidentally" left in a Gringotts vault.

Now knowing he could trust no one, Ron set about to make preparations. The first set of preparations were to prevent his impending murder. He bought a brand new set of poison-detecting cutlery that he used from that point on. He also had a flask for whatever he wanted to drink. He was very careful to hang around when Hermione served food and always made sure she took the first bite. Ron spent a small fortune on every kind of antidote he could think of, to every poison he might be fed and just in case also a few bezoars. He also collected weapons, always having at least one knife on his person and more stocked at home. He was always extra vigilant now, knowing that behind every corner death might lurk. Lavender even commended him on it. Finally, he booby-trapped his house in case any assassins might be sent.

The other set of preparations concerned the possibility that he could potentially still meet his maker too soon. If death was indeed impending, he had to be ready. He began compiling a dossier on all the incidents concerning the attempts on his life. He didn't want to turn on his family or friends but he felt that he deserved to have his death be avenged. Old Notarius was gladly ready to take the dossier and for a small fee promised to deliver it to the Auror Office should Ron meet an untimely death. Ron also tried to drop subtle hints to Lavender, perhaps hoping to exploit the small spot in her heart for him. That misfired when Lavender looked him up and down and said she was sure no one wanted to kill off his scrawny arse. Ron decided not to go deeper into detail. He also set up a vault with a small fortune promised to whoever found and brought to justice his killer, and put aside a whole bunch of memories for his daughter to look at when she got older. Luckily, of course, he'd already made a will so there was no need to worry about that. After some hesitation, he also went ahead and picked out a tombstone and a casket. Just in case, because maybe in their greed and lust for his money, they'd just stick him in a hole somewhere.

Having done all this, Ron still didn't exactly feel safe but he felt a bit better and could even keep up his best pretense that everything was okay. He thought he had even Hermione fooled. Thus he could have lived on like that for a while if there hadn't been one last poorly-timed incident. He was hugging his daughter Rose and talking softly to the baby about how she was the only one he could trust and at least she would never hurt him. Rose cooed and laughed. She babbled happily, Ron just being able to make out "Da da. Da da." Then Rose began to clap her hands and Ron bounced her on his hip. The child giggled louder and her hands produced an audible clap.

Now, usually, the first burst of accidental magic from a child makes the parent proud as punch. There were multiple schools of thought but most believed that the earlier it happened, the more powerful the child. There were of course exceptions, notably Neville Longbottom for example, but still. Unfortunately, all Ron Weasley could think as his happy little daughter produced a happy little fireball, was that his tiny angel was _also_ after the inheritance. He immediately placed her back in the crib and fled up the stairs to the attic.

Three days later he was still in the attic. The hatch had been set up with explosives and there were several knives suspended from the ceiling. In the deepest corner sat Ron, talking to anyone who came close through a small crack in the hatch but warning against them entering. He made it clear that he was prepared and anyone who came for him would go out with him. Many came to try to coax him down but he listened to no one.

Unfortunately, he also missed a scene he would have absolutely loved that concerned Hermione threatening to turn Draco into a ferret again and have Crookshanks chase him around Malfoy Manor. She was absolutely furious when she finally got Draco to confess to being the one putting ideas into her husband's head. Draco on his part regretted it deeply.

On the fourth day, Severus Snape was dragged into the mess by Draco who was still afraid that Hermione would hex him bald or spell soap into his tea forevermore. Snape was annoyed and the scar on his throat hurt. He was also convinced he'd get no peace until he'd once again fixed whatever Potter was (partially) to blame for. Without further ado he blasted a hole in the attic wall in a place he could detect no traps. Snape disarmed Ron with a flick of his wand and then produced the will in question. How he had gotten it from the Goblins, no one dared ask.

Standing in the ruins of Ron and Hermione Weasley's attic, he waved the will. "I knew you were dense, Mr Weasley, but I had hopes that even a half-developed amoeba would have figured out the solution to your problem," he hissed, his voice having unfortunately lost some of its silkiness in the snake attack. "Let me enlighten you: You are too bloody young for a will!" With a flick of his wand he set the parchment on fire. Ron watched, mouth gaping open, as the remains of his will dropped as ashes on the floor. "There, now you're just as worthless dead as you are alive, Mr Weasley," he stated dryly and before anyone could even thank him, Apparated away.

That night Ron Weasley swore to his wife that he'd not do something as foolish as make preparations for his death again until he was at least a hundred years old.


End file.
